


dance (while the music still goes on)

by Zannolin



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Karaoke, Other, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of prose, there's the entire carte blanche crew tbh but i'm just tagging people with lines, this is a stupid fluffy messy jupeter fic and it shows, unnecessary mentions of nureyev's laughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zannolin/pseuds/Zannolin
Summary: Peter grabs his hands, rising to his feet and pulling Juno up with him, and though Juno might protest and grumble, he’s laughing all the while. Perhaps it’s just the drink talking, but he thinks he’d do anything if Peter Nureyev asked him to.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 13
Kudos: 79





	dance (while the music still goes on)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AWalkingParadox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWalkingParadox/gifts).



> *blows a (platonic) kiss to the stars* this one's for you, Wolfy. Thanks for being an amazing friend and enabling me way too much. Please enjoy the copious amounts of tooth-rotting fluff and found family.
> 
> Inspired by/based off [this](https://twitter.com/WolfyTheWitch/status/1304606665568706560?s=20) lovely twitter thread by [@WolfyTheWitch](https://twitter.com/WolfyTheWitch)! Except I made it more found family because I can't stop thinking about my crime family.

Karaoke night on the _Carte Blanche_ is bright and cheerful and noisy, and something that the Juno Steel from a year ago — hell, from _six months ago_ — would have snorted and rolled his eyes at. The Juno Steel of the here and now, however, is flushed and happy and laughing his way through the end of an old Earthen song that Rita loves. Something about wanting things the singer’s way; Juno forgets the lyrics about five seconds after they flick off his comm screen, but he can’t help but get caught up in Rita’s enthusiasm, in the warm atmosphere of the room, in the way one Peter Nureyev tries and fails to hide his laughter behind a manicured hand, eyes sparkling with mirth at Juno’s admittedly _terrible_ singing.

Peter gives in to Rita’s prodding in the end and joins in for the final verse. His belting is even worse than Juno’s, but his face is alight with joy, his usually perfect hair is tousled, and Juno is desperately, hopelessly in love.

The final notes of the track fade out and Nureyev collapses against Juno’s side, breathless and still trying to contain his laughter.

Juno wishes he wouldn’t. There’s not a sound this side of the galaxy as beautiful as Peter Nureyev’s laughter. A lady could get drunk off it if he’s not careful, but then again, _careful_ has never exactly been a word used to describe Juno Steel, ex-private eye. Cynical, maybe. Reckless, sure. Annoying, absolutely. But not careful, not for a long time.

Either way, it doesn’t matter, because they’ve got plenty to get drunk on with or without Nureyev’s laughter — although, Juno will admit he prefers his liquor _with_ said laughter, if at all possible.

Settling onto the floor with his back to the sofa, Juno takes a swig of whatever expensive drink Buddy had stocked the galley with last time they made a supply run. Buddy herself is currently talking Vespa into singing for her. Over the rim of his glass, Juno raises an eyebrow and directs his most shit-eating grin at Vespa, who shoots him a death glare in return, but can’t seem to bring herself to snarl at him when under the full force of her fiancée’s charm.

Juno isn’t exactly one to talk, though, because the very minute Peter leans his cheek against Juno’s shoulder, his can _feel_ himself melting. Love has a way of making anyone a sap, it seems, and as he turns to press a kiss atop the crown of Nureyev’s head, Juno finds that he really doesn’t mind that so much.

Nureyev hums contentedly against his collarbone and Juno closes his eye for a moment, letting himself simply _be_ in this moment, spun soft and gentle of golden light and happiness. This isn’t something Juno Steel ever thought he would have, but he is here and he is alive and he has Peter Nureyev tucked against his side, cold nose, pokey glasses frames and all. If this were the last moment in all of time, hanging suspended and glimmering against the end of all things, Juno thinks he could be okay with that.

He can handle anything with his family by his side.

Because that’s what the _Carte Blanche_ crew _are,_ really. Family. His family is Rita, chattering on about streams to a stoic Jet behind them on the couch; Buddy who watches Vespa with a tenderness almost unbearable as she reluctantly sings about love, about how long it has been. It’s Vespa even when she’s fighting with him, Jet in his quiet wisdom and unexpected conspiracy theories, courtesy of Rita. And it’s Peter Nureyev, in all the million little ways Juno has watched him learn to grow and settle and _be._ In the ways he has stopped running and stayed and opened, bit by tiny bit, his heart and soul for Juno to reach out and touch, open the prison of his ribcage and hold everything that is Peter Nureyev and his many aliases, from the Nameless Thief to the Angel of Brahma to the idealistic orphan raised on lies to the man Juno has fallen in love with so completely, in scarred and shaking hands.

There are other people to Juno’s family, of course. Mick and Sasha, even Alessandra. It’s taken him a long time to accept it, but there are people who care about Juno spread across the galaxy like a handful of far-flung stardust. But these are the people who are here with him as their little haven of warmth and light speeds through the endless dark between stars, and Juno savors another drink and sends thanks to beings he’s not sure he even believes in that _he is here too,_ because why the hell not?

Nureyev murmurs something against his neck, drawing Juno out of his sentimental musings.

“What was that, honey?” Juno asks, setting aside his now-empty glass and looking down at Nureyev.

“I said,” Nureyev mumbles again, raising his head slightly so his lips brush against Juno’s neck rather than mutter into his jumper, “that Vespa’s got quite a nice voice when she’s not threatening to kill one or both of us.”

He snorts as he says it, and Juno can feel Peter smiling, self-satisfied, against his skin, like he’s the funniest person ever to board a spaceship.

“If you’re making jokes about Vespa, I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Juno decides, reaching for Peter’s glass.

It takes several tries to extract Nureyev’s glass from his hand, and even longer for Juno to be able to set said glass down, because Peter Nureyev, it turns out, is a clingy drunk. A clingy, _very_ affectionate drunk.

“Dance with me,” he half-whines, forehead now resting in Juno’s hair and breath ghosting across his cheeks like the memory of a caress. It would be more pleasant without the familiar tingling smell of alcohol, but still.

“You’re clingy,” Juno informs him, maybe a little bit drunk himself. “And also tall.”

Maybe more than a little bit drunk, then.

Peter grabs his hands, rising to his feet and pulling Juno up with him, and though Juno might protest and grumble, he’s laughing all the while. Perhaps it’s just the drink talking, but he thinks he’d do anything if Peter Nureyev asked him to. They’ve come so far from flinging accusations and insults, pleading for answers and trust on the Utgard Express heist. As they fumble and laugh like clumsy teenagers trying to slow dance for the first time, Juno lets his mind wander, retracing the many steps it took to reach this point.

They were hard and painful and oh so challenging, but he wouldn’t trade a single one away, because eventually they led him to this here and now, fingers tangled with Nureyev’s, head tucked under his chin because his partner is _stupidly_ and _unfairly_ tall.

The music slows, switches to a new song. Vespa isn’t singing anymore. Juno lets Peter lead, closes his eyes and breathes in the trust that comes so easily now.

“You know, Juno,” says Nureyev, somewhere above him, voice barely a whisper, “I’ve broken into the most fortified of structures, stolen the most priceless treasures the galaxy has to offer, conned my way through dozens of heists…and yet somehow you’ve reduced me to a lovesick fool.”

There’s no bitterness behind the words, only a fondness that curls somewhere within Juno’s ribcage and _aches_ with the kind of pain only something so good you don’t know how you have it can bring.

He turns his head so his ear rests against Nureyev’s chest, listens to the sure and steady beat of his heart, tapping out a song more beautiful than anything they’ve tried to sing this evening, and recalls a night nearly two years ago, brimming equally with tenderness and raw, white-hot pain, promises made and broken, regrets that haunted them for far too long, and Juno _smiles._

He pulls back slightly, reaches a hand up to cup Nureyev’s cheek, feel the warmth of his skin against his palm, and says softly, “If you’re a fool, that makes two of us.”

Juno rises on his toes, guides Peter’s face gently down and presses a kiss against his forehead, then the tip of his nose, then finally, his lips, savoring the tiny gasp of wonder the action brings.

When they break apart, Juno whispers words into Nureyev’s ear, light as a song and steadfast as a prayer.

_I love you, Peter Nureyev._

Because that’s all that really needs to be said, isn’t it?

There are tears in Nureyev’s eyes, stars sparkling against the velvet backdrop of night, as he leans forward to murmur his own _I love you_ against Juno’s forehead.

They stand that way for a moment, figures in a music box, stilling just as the final notes of the music fade away, caught in that crystalline moment when the song still echoes but the hand has not yet twisted the crank to set them atwirl once again.

For once, everything is perfect.

It’s Vespa who ruins it, unsurprisingly.

“Get a room, lovebirds,” she grumbles, but there’s none of her usual venom behind it. Juno looks over to see her with one hand in Buddy’s and the other on Buddy’s shoulder, joining Juno and Peter in their dancing — though significantly more graceful.

“Don’t think we will,” Juno informs her cheerily, and flips her off when Buddy isn’t looking.

 _You’re a dead man,_ she mouths at him, but a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

 _Love you too,_ Juno mouths back, and lays his head back against Nureyev’s chest, enjoying the rumble of his laughter under Juno’s cheek.

“What was that you said earlier about making jokes about Vespa?” Nureyev teases him, and Juno purposefully steps on his foot — but only barely.

“Shut up and dance with me, moron,” Juno mutters, cheeks hot, and Nureyev laughs again.

Peter Nureyev’s laughter is like a creature of starlight and shadow, gentle as a lover’s touch and sharp like the burn of whiskey straight down your throat. If Juno can’t bottle the sound to keep, he’ll settle for hearing it as often as possible, tucking away the knowledge that he — out of everyone in the universe — was the one to draw that sound, that mirth and happiness, that secret song, out of Peter Nureyev.

A new song starts up, and as the _Carte Blanche_ speeds onwards through the star-smattered void, Juno loses himself to the music and Peter Nureyev’s touch and the unshakeable knowledge that he is at home.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScnTQk0xOlg&ab_channel=ABBA-Topic) Juno, Rita, and Peter sing [this song,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LwkrXybZ1uo) and Vespa sings [this song!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP0tHmoc1rs&ab_channel=KittyKallen-Topic)
> 
> Find my perpetually angsty ass on [tumblr](https://zannolin.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/zannolin), and [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/zannolin/)!


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